Gregg shook his head. “Maybe they aren’t aware that she’s the one in charge? Maybe they think it’s al-Abadi and so…they decide to remove the biggest supplier of weapons to the region?”
Jay stood, still staring at the man under the lights. He tapped at his chin, his head slowly shaking. “None of this really makes sense. Why bother with such a small potato supplier? If they wanted him or his arms dealt with, a drone is much quicker.”
“But that would lead back to the military,” Bobby replied.
“And setting you up doesn’t take a lot more effort and still come to the same conclusion? As far as the folks here would be concerned, an American citizen is just as bad, if not worse, than the military doing it.” He shook his head again and sighed heavily. “This just doesn’t add up.”
Bobby marched to the circle of lights and pulled the cord supplying power to the stands. Muhammed blinked rapidly trying to remove the green spots from his vision.
Bridger squatted directly in front of the man and grabbed his chin by the beard, turning his face to his. “Talk, little man, or so help me, I’ll drag you right back to where we got you and send up a flare for the Americans to find you.”
“I swear. I do not know why they would target me.” The sweat rolled from his face as he tried to focus on the giant squatting before him. “We have done nothing different since the Soviets left. We are still—”
“Stop!” Bridger squeezed the man’s shoulder until he cried out. “Answer me. I’m not joking.”
“I have tried to tell you. I have no idea what—” Muhammed’s voice cracked as he tried to speak.
Bridger grabbed the man and lifted him, chair and all, and began making his way to the doors. The pair knocked over light stands and a small table before Muhammed began screaming. “Okay! Okay! I’ll tell you whatever you want. Just please…I can’t know what the Americans are thinking. I swear!”
Bridger dropped the man and the chair teetered before falling over. al-Abadi winced as his shoulder smashed into the cold concrete but held his tongue. He wouldn’t give his abductors the pleasure of hearing him cry out again.
“Hey boss!” Steve shouted from the shadows. “We have chatter.”
Bridger kicked al-Abadi’s chair as he stepped away. “Don’t go anywhere.”
The men clustered around Steve’s station as the man nodded then pulled a cell phone from his ear. “One of our CI’s at the airport. He’s positive he spotted a strike team.”
“At the airport?” Bridger shook his head. “That makes no sense.”
Jay held a hand up. “Shamsi. The Paks made a big ‘public’ deal of ordering the U.S. out of the base sometime toward the end of 2011.”
Bridger’s brows knit. “But…”
“But there have been rumors of the CIA still running their Predator strikes from Shamsi.” He shrugged and gave him an innocent smile. “We have CI’s at different locations that keep us in the loop if anything out of the ordinary goes on.”
“And I’m guessing the strike team was spotted at Shamsi?” Bridger turned to Steve, who gave a nod.
“According to my guy, they just lifted off in three very black, very unmarked gunships.” Steve clicked his phone shut and turned to Gregg. “Can you track an untraceable aircraft?”
Gregg smiled. “Hell no.” He cracked his knuckles and began tapping on his computer. “Hide and watch me.”
Bridger stiffened. “Tell me they’re not coming here.”
Jay shook his head. “They’d have no reason to.” He snapped a glance at al-Abadi. “Unless he has something traceable on him. Did you check for wires, devices, anything?”
Steve shook his head. “The only thing he had was that damned cell phone and we tossed it inside the garage.”
“Tell me you have something that can sweep for bugs,” Bridger asked.
“We swept him in the van.” Steve pointed to the locker. “In there.”
Bridger threw open the locker and pulled the wand from the top shelf. He marched to al-Abadi and lifted the chair back up. Starting at his head, Bobby slowly swept the man’s entire body, including the bottoms of his shoes. He looked to Jay, “I got nothing.”
“Then they’re not coming here.” He looked to Gregg. “Tell me you have something.”
Gregg shrugged. “They dropped off the map.”
Langley, VA
“WHAT THE HELL is he doing?” Darren Chesterfield leaned closer to the screen. “Can you clean that up?”
The technician tapped in the commands and the image stabilized and cleared. “It looks like a drug deal.”
Chesterfield shook his head. “No.” He stepped back and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “No. Not drugs.”
He reached for the phone again and punched in Colonel Nelson’s number. “It’s gone sideways on us Colonel. Abadi didn’t even go to his own demonstration. He’s using it as cover to make an arms deal. Right on the edge of town.”
Colonel Nelson didn’t mean to laugh out loud but the sound carried through the phone made Chesterfield’s testicles rise up inside his body. When the colonel finally came back on the line, he simply said, “The best laid plans of mice and men.”
The phone went dead.
Chesterfield leaned back and stifled a groan. This couldn’t be happening. They had to remove al-Abadi from the playing field with this operation. His death was key to selling the results to the moderates.
Darren Chesterfield paced the small area near the entrance and tried to think. If the strike team could later track the man down…no. He needed to die from the initial attack, not a bullet. It was crucial that the man appeared to be a victim of his own misdeeds. One doesn’t simply crawl into bed with the enemy and expect to come out clean. He stiffened and stared blankly to the far wall.
He pulled his coat from
